Thranduil
The shock of the news of a Hobbit wandering in his Halls without his knowledge was slowly ebbing away. Thranduil sat on his wooden chair, his back straight and hand lightly tracing the leaves etched on the armrest. Both his steward and his commander stood behind him. A tense silence fell.
He heard his Steward give a queer little burst which he turned into a coughing fit. Thranduil ignored him. His own dignity was at stake. Admittedly, it was somewhat bruised and it will be time to nurse his wounded pride.
His steward leaned forward.
"Sire, if I may excuse myself-"
"You will stay where you are." Thranduil's words were curt.
"As you wish," the steward agreed quickly and straightened.
Thranduil sucked the inside of his lower lip between his teeth and released it. He thought of Elrond and Celeborn, and knew this was an experience he would never live down.
"My lord," his commander murmured. His voice was oddly choked. "If I may be excused, I will see whether our soldiers are in order."
Thranduil felt a bit sorry for them both. It wasn't right for him to torture them to save his own face.
"Go," Thranduil nodded. The two Elves escaped so fast from his presence that Thranduil raised his brows.
They did not get very far. The tent flap barely closed when he heard both of his most trustworthy Elves surrendered to their building laughter. Thranduil now wondered how long he would survive. He stilled his twitching lips. The situation was too ridiculous, too bizarre for him to comprehend. How could something so small and insignificant manage to roam his Halls without his knowledge?
Suddenly he heard his steward say, "So that is where the king's meal disappeared soon after the capture of the Dwarves!"
Remembering the mystery of one of his meals set out in a private dining chamber, the confusion that followed, and the reprimand of a poor chef that Thranduil will now need to seek forgiveness from, Thranduil's own laugh erupted in his throat.
